The Timely Visit
by Wordwalker
Summary: The Doctor decides to pay his old friends on 221B Baker St a visit. Smut ensues. One shot.


Vworp, vworp; a sound as alien as the police box it belonged to rang out across the street, as out of place as if it had been laughter at a funeral. The blue door creaked open and a man stuck his head out.

"Earth, 21st century, taste of carbon monoxide in the air. Good, good, you've done well, you sexy thing," he said, patting the side of the box in fondness. He stepped out of the box, knowing that passersby were completely oblivious to his appearing out of thin air. "Humans," he muttered.

He looked around. Yes, she'd even brought him to the exact spot he needed, across the road from an old friend of his. He was glad that he had a link with the Tardis, at times like this; it meant he need not tell her where to go. He strode over the asphalt road and rapped his knuckles against the door of 221B Baker St, waiting impatiently as he heard someone stumble down the stairs to get the door. He heard the lock click open and instead of waiting for the person on the other side to open, he pushed, barging in, past the short man and jumping the stairs two at a time.

"Oh, you again?" he heard the short man calling after him. He burst into the living room, looking around wildly, trying to find the man he was looking for. But as it was, the other man found him.

"Doctor," a voice said from behind a stack of papers, "is it that time again?"

"Sherlock! Of course it is. Would I be here for any other reason?"

"I'm flattered that you would put on hold your travels through time and space to come visit."

"Yes, well, my Time Lord senses are tingling. You know what that means," the Doctor said, taking off his jacket and casting it aside, then fumbling with his suspenders.

"Indeed, I do know what that entails. Watson, close the door behind you, and fetch the equipment," Sherlock called to the man who had finally climbed the stairs to join them. Watson, grumbling under his breath, left the room, only to return with a packet of condoms.

"Really Sherlock? Still on about that protection rubbish? I thought I told you, Time Lords are impervious to human diseases like that," the Doctor exclaimed, suspenders finally off.

"You may be, but Watson and I are not," Sherlock replied tersely, moving forward to help the Doctor remove his shirt. His fingers, calm as ever, deftly worked the buttons loose, and with one violent movement, he tore the shirt back from the Doctor's chest, exposing the muscles beneath. Watson, behind the Doctor, untangled the shirt from the Doctor's arms. The Doctor, hands finally free, moved to remove Sherlock's clothing, but was stopped in his tracks when the other man bent down, biting the soft spot between shoulder and neck. The Doctor shivered, his arousal growing, spreading right around his body. Sherlock always did know the exact spot.

"Still haven't seen any sun, then?" Watson observed, by this time half naked himself.

"I've seen plenty of sun, thank you, in fact, plenty of various suns. But the rest of my body hasn't," the Doctor replied, trying to keep his voice steady as Sherlock worked his tongue over his chest, down his stomach, then biting him at the waistband of his pants. He couldn't help himself; the Doctor gasped. He needed more, more than just the contact of tongue on his white skin, more than the teasing caresses, promising more but not delivering.

"Still travelling with that red headed girl and the good looking boy?" Watson asked, wrapping his arms around the Doctor from behind, and even through his pants, the Doctor could feel that Watson was wearing nothing, and that he was very, very aroused.

"Yes, Amy and Rory," the Doctor whimpered as Sherlock began undoing the buttons of his pants, slowly, one at a time, deliberately brushing against his crotch with all the lightness of a butterfly, while behind him Watson began moving his body against his back.

"Should've brought Rory with you. I quite fancy him," Watson growled in his ear, fingers curling into the Doctor's dark mop of hair.

"He's married!" the Doctor gasped.

"Yes. So were you once. Or several times, actually," Sherlock reminded him from below.

"You, shut up and keep going," the Doctor demanded, grabbing the other man's head and directing back to his nether region.

"Oooh, soft spot," Watson chuckled, gliding his hands down the Doctor's chest, slipping them into his underpants as Sherlock removed his trousers. Watson ran his fingers over the Time Lord's erection, feeling the man jerk into his hands, wanting to thrust, but not wanting to seem desperate. But Watson knew better. "Don't worry space man, we won't tell your wives what you get up to when you can't make it to their beds."

Sherlock, undressing himself in front of the Doctor smiled wryly at the comment; it wasn't as if they could, anyway. He could feel the Doctor's eyes running over him while he removed each piece of clothing, so he slowed the process down deliberately, knowing that the other man wanted everything, right away, the way he always did; the Doctor was not known as a man of patience with the other two men. Sherlock dropped his shirt to the floor, making sure to keep his eyes trained on those of the Doctor, then, just when he thought the other man was going to break away from Watson, Sherlock stopped him in his tracks by moving his hands to his pants, undoing the zipper, feeling it catch on each of the teeth as it slid down, then slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the pants down past his hips, past his crotch, past his knees, then finally removing them from around his ankles. Sherlock grinned as the Doctor licked his lips, eyes trained on his underpants, and the shape protruding from them.

"Watson," Sherlock said, and the other man, understanding the order, in one quick movement, stripped the Doctor of his underwear, exposing his arousal. Sherlock, tearing open several condoms, put one on himself, then fell to his knees, pushing part of it onto the Doctor. In a move the Time Lord wasn't expecting, the other man leant forward and unrolled the rest of the latex with his teeth; the Doctor couldn't contain himself - he thrust forward, and his fingers found the locks of Sherlock's hair, gripping them as he tried to encourage the other man to do more. Behind him, Watson had found his entrance, and was teasing it; the combination of both men's techniques were driving him mad. He needed more, he needed everything, and he needed it now.

Watson's hands moved to grip his hips, and in one thrust, part of the Doctor's prayers were answered. Watson moaned, leaning his forehead between the Doctor's shoulder blades, revelling in the feeling of being inside the other man, before rolling his hips back and jerking them forward again. The Doctor, gasping, was overcome with waves of pleasure, intermingling with the pain, and his fingers, already gripping Sherlock's dark locks of hair, curled tighter. Sherlock, having taken a moment to enjoy the look on the other two men's faces as he satisfied himself, opened his mouth and took the Doctor into it.

The Doctor made an inhuman sound as Sherlock's tongue swirled around his tip, caressing, poking, pleasuring; it was a cross between a moan and a whimper, asking for more, but knowing that it might all be too much to take. Meanwhile, Watson had picked up a pace, in and out, in and out, and he, trying to stifle his own moans, repeatedly bit into the Doctor's back and shoulders, so that soon, the pale skin was littered with red marks, turning purple even as Watson thrust faster. The friction was making his entire body tense up, his muscles preparing for the oncoming release. The Doctor could feel it too; with every thrust of Watson behind and every caress of Sherlock in front, he knew that he wasn't going to last much longer.

Thoughts fled from his mind and he felt as though he were elevated to a higher plane of life, working, just working to explode into satisfaction. He thrust into Sherlock's mouth, then withdrew into Watson's touch, back and forth, back and forth, waves of pleasure shooting from his loins, up his navel, through his chest, emerging in moans and groans from his mouth.

"I'm close," he panted between thrusts, and immediately, he felt Sherlock work faster, more viciously, as though he wanted the Doctor to finish with a bang. The Time Lord was pummelled in the chest with a weight, constricting his breathing, his stomach clenched, his entire body clenched, waiting in a second of silence for that one touch which would send him over the edge. And simultaneously it came, from both Sherlock and Watson. He, forgetting everything, from his long, long history, to where he was, even down to his very name, exploded, his body shaking with the violence of his orgasm.

Watson, with the Doctor's walls tightened around his own arousal, gave one final thrust and shuddered, collapsing in exhaustion into the other man's back, wrapping his arms around him for support, the groan he had been trying to suppress, wrenched from his throat in guttural glory.

Below them, Sherlock, hand around himself to finish, bit into the inside of the Doctor's thigh, hard enough to draw blood, as he too exploded into happiness. The three of them, tired and riding out the last vibrations of their orgasms, collapsed onto the floor in an entangled, sweat slicked, exhausted heap, making the floor reverberate as they crashed against it. They lay there, close to each other, panting into the darkness of the room, not knowing what to say, if they should say anything at all.

A knock came at their door and a voice drifted to them from the other side.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright in there. I heard a crash."

"Everything is perfectly fine, Mrs Hudson. Watson and I just had a timely visit from an old friend," Sherlock called from the floor, sending the three of them into fits of giggles worse than schoolgirls.

"Do make sure you don't break my floor," Mrs Hudson called, before moving away back to her own unit. The three men, the detective, the doctor and the Time Lord giggled again.

"A timely visit, indeed," the Doctor laughed.

**A/N: so this was a little something my friend requested I write. I've never written anything like it before, so hopefully it lives up to her expectations.**


End file.
